Night and Day
by Enelya87
Summary: 1927, Chicago. He had a secret. Her career depended on discovering that secret. His depends on discovering a killer. Both discover something else neither had been looking for in the first place. IchiHime, GrimmNel, RenRuki. Rated M for graphic violence.
1. Your Heart Is As Black As Night

*le gasp* Is this...is this actually something other than a drabble series from me?? Shock and surprise! XD Finally getting around to doing this chapter fic. I don't guarantee it being as good as Le Belle et la Bete...I'm just not feelin' ambitious like I was back then, don't have the time I did this past summer, kind of workin' on college and career and the whatnot...so yeah...Anyhow, I hope you'll enjoy it a little nonetheless!!

**Warnings:** _Possible character deaths_. Just minors though _if _I kill some of Kubo's characters. Well, I might go slightly main character...I might not...but if you can't handle the deaths of cartoon characters, don't read XD. Also,_ I may or may not make your favorite character the bad guy/gir_l. So if you can't handle that either, I suggest not reading.

One last fyi thing, title is a song written by Cole Porter. All chapter titles are classic jazz songs.

Okay, enjoy! :D

**Disclaimer:** Bleach (c) Kubo Tite

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_Chicago 1927_

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The murderer smiled at her. She didn't smile back. Her eyes glazed and lifeless. The monster didn't mind. He didn't mind in the least. His tongue flicked out to lick at his dry lips as he tilted his head to the side watching the blood slowly flow over her ivory, dirt covered throat. Beautiful.

His fingers hovered over her skin, seeming to caress without touching. But no, touching was not a caress to him. He ran the dull side of the small knife down her torso. The knife. It was an extension of himself, doing so beautifully what he could not do alone. The killer glanced down disdainfully at his blunt nails. If only he had such power. What beauty he could create.

Reverently, he turned the knife so that its sharp edge rested against her skin. The killer nearly giggled when he pushed and more of the thick, red blood seeped out. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he inhaled the scent of her death as he ran the knife from her stomach to her neck.

He lifted her hand as if in greeting at a ball and quickly flicked its knife against the skin. He smiled softly. Almost as if he had kissed her hand. He brought the knife to her lips and quickly sliced through them once. Twice. One last time. Bloody kisses.

He felt the sudden urge to kiss the inside of her elbow, and so he carefully turned her arm, slicing a passionate gash through the thin skin.

And then he snarled and hissed in frustration.

She was no longer bleeding. All life had drained out of her.

He made a furious gargling sound and stumbled to his feet, throwing down the knife with a clatter. The fun had ended too soon. Too fast. He wanted more. _More_. His face contorted and then spat upon the woman's corpse. He felt unsatisfied.

This had been nothing but pathetic foreplay.

Far off giggling caught his attention. He sneered and picked up the knife, quickly wiping it clean and throwing the bloody handkerchief over her face as an afterthought before heading in the direction of the light-hearted laughter. He would just have to finish with another.

And this time he would take his time with her.

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Ichigo Kurosaki stifled a yawn as the man before him ranted, arms flailing about, pot belly jiggling. "She did it I tell ya! The wench! I knew she was nothing but a dirty-"

A sniffle from the other side of the tiny living room interrupted his ravings. The man glared at the woman holding a handkerchief to her eyes. "It's just so terrible, officer. I-I can't believe it. I just can't believe he's dead." She looked up at Shuuhei Hisagi through her long eyelashes, batting them prettily.

"Uh-huh." Shuuhei scribbled in his notebook. "Mrs. Riyalgo-"

"Oh!" she interrupted. "Please, call me Loli."

"Right. So, Mrs. Riyalgo, you say you just came home to find him like this?" he asked, jerking his head towards the corpse draped over the coffee table, its head resting in a pool of its own blood from a gunshot wound to the temple. "But nothing was stolen?"

She nodded her head and dabbed at the corner of her eye. "That's right, officer. Oh it's just awful. Just awful."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the uptight detective muttered. "Did he have any enemies that you know of?"

"Oh! Lots and lots…"

"Liar!" the man bellowed. "Devil woman! Murderess!"

Ichigo pushed up his dark brown fedora with his thumb, studying the big man with bored eyes. "All right, Mr. Riyalgo. Walk me through exactly what happened."

He whirled back to face the honey-haired man, his eyes wild. "It was completely uncalled for! There I was, sittin' on the couch, enjoyin' a cig, mindin' my own business when all of a sudden she swoops in whining and bitching about money this and money that. How I need to get a job or she'll start whorin' herself out. Ha, like she didn't do that already. So I tell her to shut up and one thing led to another and before I know it I've got a gun stuck to the side of my head."

"And then she killed you?"

"Yeah, then that bitch killed me! Pulled that damn trigger without even flinching. Look at her now. I'm layin' there on the coffee table, swimmin' in my own blood and she's flirtin' with that bastard."

"Okay," Ichigo snapped his notebook shut and looked over to where Hisagi was trying to avoid the woman's advances and actually get some useful information. "We're done here."

"Oh no we're not," Yammi Riyalgo crossed his massive arms over his chest, grinning sadistically. "I want to watch that bitch get hauled off to jail and then I wanna watch her head roll."

Ichigo sighed. It was always such a pain in the ass when the dead decided they wanted to stick around. He stuck the pad and pen in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and headed towards his partner, ignoring the odd glances and snickers from his peers. One would think Chicago's finest would be used to him muttering to empty air by now, but no. What would they think if he actually told them who or what he was always muttering to? All that mattered is he got shit done. He was part laughing stock, part legend. If they wanted to make fun of him, that was their business. Hell, if he was in their shoes he would probably be doing the same thing.

He stopped before Hisagi, his hands casually stuck in his pocket. "She did it."

Loli gasped and gaped at the unusual man who had suddenly butted in on her interview with the handsome, young detective. "What?! No, I didn't! How could you say such a thing? My own husband! I'm burift with grief!"

"Bereft," he corrected.

"Whatever! I'm really sad, okay? How _dare_ you accuse me!"

A large, muscular man with dark skin, his navy blue uniform snuggly fit, appeared in the doorway just then and jabbed his thumb out at the hallway. "Neighbors say they heard arguing."

Loli Riyalgo's eyes widened in panic. "W-Wait a minute! They…they heard wrong! We were just…" She looked up at Hisagi, her eyelids at half-mast again. "Having a little fun…if you know what I mean."

Hisagi raised a brow. "Chad said _they_ were arguing, might not have meant you and your husband, but I guess it does now. And I thought you said you just got home and found him dead?"

Her eyes and mouth flew wide open, scared. Suddenly she screamed and pivoted on her heel, ready to dart out of the room, but Ichigo caught her by the arm, jerking her backwards. She yelped and then began to thrash and shriek as Hisagi took over and clamped the handcuffs onto her wrists. He gritted his teeth against the growing pain in his ears. "Shut up, will ya?" He looked up at the big man watching. "Yo Chad, mind helpin' me out?"

The policeman grunted and plucked her up by the arm, easily carrying her out as she continued to scream and cry, fluctuating between begging innocence and cursing her late husband.

Ichigo turned his back on the retreating scene and removed his hat, ruffling his hair as he watched them gather evidence and bag the body. "Well, guess that's it."

Hisagi studied him for a brief second before nodding. "Yup, guess so."

Ichigo glanced up at his friend, wondering, not for the first time, why he never asked questions after all this time. How even when he didn't have all the evidence pieced together, he almost always knew the culprit. And was always proven right. Maybe Hisagi had already guessed. As outlandish as the answer was, Hisagi was a pretty smart guy.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a camera and a bright flash filled the room. He whirled around to find Keigo Asano photographing the body, Tatsuki Arisawa at his side. "Hey! Who the hell let you in?! Get outta here you mangy newspaper leeches!" He grabbed Asano by the back of the collar and started dragging him out of the apartment, Tatsuki following close on his heels as her photographer whined.

"Freedom of the press! You're hindering our constitutional right, Ichigo!" she yelled vehemently.

Ichigo tossed Keigo down the hallway and turned to glare at her with gritted teeth. "And you're hindering me from solving a case. And it's _Mr_. Kurosaki to you, Miss Arisawa."

"Well, _Ichigo_, according to what I heard you've already solved the case. _Again_. Tell the admiring people of Chicago just how you do it. They deserve the truth!"

Suddenly his face changed to an extremely amiable expression and he rocked back on his heels. "Admiring people of Chicago, eh?"

Tatsuki grinned, flipping to another page in her notebook. "Yes, yes. Verrry admiring. Adoring."

"Mhm." He started to march back towards the apartment, stroking his strong chin as he studied the ceiling. "Well, Tatsuki – I assume I may call you Tatsuki – here's what I'd like you to tell the fine people of Chicago." He turned on his heel, now in the doorway, a sudden furious expression on his face. "Fuck off!" He slammed the door in the reporter's face, ceiling chips falling down into his hair. Wildly, he wacked at his hair, trying to get the offending white pieces out.

"Oh that'll make you popular," Hisagi commented as he pulled out a revolver with his pen that had been kicked under the couch.

"Like I give a damn."

"Okay, okay. Suit yourself." He turned to a comrade. "Dust this for fingerprints, will ya?"

They fell into silence as they worked; Yammi's huge body being rolled out created a quiet thunder. Ichigo glanced up to see that the spirit had left. Either he'd found peace at seeing his wife being dragged out, kicking and screaming or he'd gone with her to watch her suffer. Perhaps torment her if he was strong enough to mess with her mind.

He sighed and swept his hand down his face. Well it didn't matter to him one way or another as long as it didn't bother _him_ again. He didn't ask for this damn "gift", as his mother had called it. He didn't ask to be exposed to all this insanity from a young age, because it was almost _always_ insanity. The normal people, the people who died in peace didn't pester him. It was the tormented, unfinished business types. Occasionally it was someone who was simply sad about leaving their loved one behind or someone who had never told them how they really felt or something along those lines.

But usually it was this.

"Alright, Ichigo. Think we're done here?"

"Yeah."

Twenty-seven years old and he was already more than ready to retire.

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Tatsuki fell in next to Keigo in the cab, grumbling and spewing. "That bastard! Who the hell does he think is?! All high and mighty thinking he's above the rest of us. Well I'll show him! I'll bring him down to our level. I'll shake his throne so hard-"

"T-Tatsuki," Keigo interjected as he tried to fix his broken camera. "You've…uh…you've tried that tactic for the past year. Don't you think you might need another approach?"

The fiery reporter shot him a seething glare and he sunk back into the stiff seat, bending deep over his camera. With a suddenly weary sigh her head fell back onto the seat, turning it slightly to stare out at the passing buildings. "Maybe you're right, Asano…"

He nearly dropped his camera in shock. "Huh? I am?"

"Yeah. Maybe I do need a new tactic…but what? What would get him to open that lockjaw of his?"

Keigo didn't answer, and they silently rode the rest of the way, out of the slums and into downtown Chicago. By the time the cab pulled up to the Tribune Tower, Keigo's camera was fixed but Tatsuki's problems weren' could be the story of her career, the story that could push the Tribune up the ranks, leaving the competition in the dust. It was so close, just within her grasp. _Stubborn ass_, she growled inwardly.

As she walked up the steps, she casually glanced up her towering, neo-gothic home-away-from-home before pushing through the glass doors and heading towards the elevator. She adjusted her deep blue, wool hat that fit snugly over her unruly black bob and unbuttoned her matching long, wool coat, revealing a dark brown long-waisted dress that hung on her slender body. "Well, Keigo. Get those photos developed fast. If I can't think of another solution I'll reveal how barbaric he is to the poor, righteous, truth-seeking press. Doubtful it'll put one dent in his popularity though. I think he's even beginning to make Mr. Capone nervous!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh good grief, don't call me ma'am, you boob. I feel old enough without you reminding me!"

A compliment to the contrary was on the tip of his tongue, but he paused to contemplate whether that would be a good idea. Before he could make up his mind the elevator dinged and opened its doors to the hustle and bustle of the press floor. He sighed a little and retreated to his desk to prepare developing.

Tatsuki marched off to her desk and plopped down in her chair to glare daggers at her typewriter. _Insolent, mocking little machine_.

"Welcome back, Tastuki!" a cheerful voice suddenly called out.

The reporter glanced up and couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face as her ball-of-sunshine best friend came up to her desk. "Thank you, Orihime. " She glanced at the gigantic carpet bag hanging on her shoulder and the scarf around her neck. "Going home already?"

"Yeah! I got that article done on the new gardens at the church, so there's really not much left for me to do here."

Tatsuki chuckled at the slight exasperated tone in her voice. "A little too easy, huh?"

Orihime sighed and fiddled with a stack of papers on the edge of Tatsuki's desk. "Well…I don't want to complain, but…after six months here I was just expecting to do a little more than…" she wrinkled her nose, "garden committees and hat fashions."

Tatsuki smiled fondly at her childhood friend. They'd grown up in the same corn-grown small town far south of Chicago. Tatsuki had left as soon as she had graduated high school, but Orihime had stayed behind to take care of her ailing brother. When he died, she'd stayed a little longer in order to take care of affairs and find someone to fill her spot at the local newspaper. As soon as she could, Orihime came to Chicago to join Tatsuki who helped her get her job here. Tatsuki understood her growing impatience, but even though Orihime Inoue had more talent in her little thumb than some of these jokers that got the big stories published, she was still a woman. That meant an excruciatingly slow climb up the ladder if there was any climb at all.

She clenched her fist in the air. "Just hang in there. And fight, fight! You'll get that big scoop one of these days!"

Orihime smiled. "You're right. Thanks." She tightened her scarf. "Well, see you tomorrow, Tatsuki."

"Sure thing." She watched her walk away, smiling slightly at her odd but beautiful friend. Suddenly an invisible light bulb appeared above her head and her body perked up. Her eyes darted back and forth as her mind whirled around the new solution that had walked up to her desk. It was so ridiculous it might actually work. Well…it didn't hurt to try, right? She pushed up out of her chair. "Orihime!"

The young woman whirled around, looking at her expectantly.

"Hey…I think I might have a chance for you to get that breakthrough story."

Orihime's eyes grew wide. "What?"

Tatsuki waved her hand in the air. "C'mere. I'll run it past you."

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Ichigo sat with elbows on his plain, oak desk, rubbing at his temples. Every once in a while a particularly strong spirit would give him a violent headache and apparently that Yammi guy had been strong. Not strong enough to bring home the bacon for his wife, but just enough to leave Ichigo with a roaring headache.

"Hey, old man, that orange hair hurtin' _your_ head now too? About time you get the same pain the rest of us have to endure."

His eyes lifted just enough to glare at the smart-mouthed woman who had waltzed into his office. "Don't you have work to do?"

She came around his desk and plopped her small body on top of his desk, crossing her legs as she stuck a cigarette in her mouth and deftly lit up. "Nope, you do most of it for me, boss."

"Do you mind?"

She touched her hand to her short black hair and blew smoke into his face. "Not in the least."

He coughed and tried to wave away the smoke. "Dammit, Rukia! Get that smoke out of my face and get the hell off of my desk!"

"So, how'd it go? The guy still hauntin' ya or is he off your back?"

Ichigo glared at the only person outside of his family who knew his secret. "He's not hauntin' me. But he might be hauntin' his wife."

"Oh? She the one who offed him?"

"Yeah. You leaving me alone now?"

"No. I'm bored."

"Well go make a pot of coffee or somethin'." He went back to rubbing his temples.

Without warning, she smacked him upside the head.

"Ow! Fuck, Rukia! What the hell was that?! I've already got a screaming headache!"

"I'm your secretary, not your errand boy."

"Well what the hell _do_ I pay you for?!"

She stared out the window behind him for a second…and then shrugged as she took another puff. "I have no idea."

He groaned. "You're as annoying as that damn reporter that stalks me."

"Tatsuki Arisawa and her minion?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm…why don't you just give her an interview and be done with it?"

"Because that'd be giving in! I'd lose a year-long fight!"

"…Right. You're an idiot."

"Get lost already!"

"Fine, fine. You're no fun anyway." She uncrossed her legs and slid down on to the wood floor, smoothing her dark green, stick-straight dress. "I think I'll just go home early then."

"Yeah, okay."

Just then Hisagi stepped in. "Hey Ichigo, you got a visitor."

Ichigo scowled up at him. "What? Who?"

He shrugged. "Some dame. Never seen her before."

"Did you catch a name?" he ground out. His patience was skating on thin ice.

"Uh…hmm…" He scratched at his chin as Rukia walked over to peek around the corner. "Oh! Orihime Inoue."

"Never heard of her. Send her back."

"She's not a piece of mail."

"Well give her to someone else, I don't care. I'm not in the mood to hear some broad's sob story and-"

He was interrupted by Rukia's exclamations. "Ooh! Aww!"

Ichigo glanced at Rukia curiously. "What the hell kind of reaction is that?"

She looked back at him with a grin on her face. "Well…I guess that'd kind of describe her. 'Ooh' yet 'aww' at the same time."

The detective stared at his secretary like she'd lost her marbles.

"Don't look at me like that! Come on, you've gotta talk to her! She's too cute to pass up!"

"Will you leave me alone if I see this chick?"

"Yup."

"For how long?" he asked suspiciously.

"Mm…today?"

"No deal."

"Fine, tomorrow too. But I won't go any further!"

"Deal. Bring her in, let's get this over with."

Hisagi shook his head and stepped out to inform her she could go in. Ichigo raised his brow at Rukia.

"What?" she asked.

"Deal begins now."

"Ichigo, you-"

"Scram!"

"Fine, fine. But you be nice to her, you hear?"

"I'm always nice," he growled.

"Ha! Nice like a porcupine. Look, I know you got a heart in there somewhere, so how about letting it show every once in a while? Might do you some good."

"Rukia," he warned.

"Okay! I'm scramming!"

When she finally left, Ichigo breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, relishing the silence, focusing on the pounding in his head, willing it to ease up. He was concentrating so hard he didn't hear the tentative knock on the doorframe or the soft cough or his name being called.

What did jolt him out of his focus was a crash-_bang_ in front of his desk. His eyes flew open and he frowned as he looked around the empty office. "Hello? Rukia?" A soft groan sounded from somewhere and his scowl deepened in confusion. He jumped suddenly when slender fingers appeared on the other side of his desk. Then a mess of auburn hair and finally a pair of glasses peered at him over the edge of his desk.

"H-Hello."

Her soft voice made him bound out of his chair and nearly run around his desk to help the young woman who had fallen. "Dammit, what the hell happened? You all right?"

She adjusted her glasses before taking his hand and got to her feet, a deep blush on her face. "Eh heh, sorry about that. I'm fine. I just slipped on…something…I think…"

His eyes widened slightly in understanding of Rukia's ambiguous description. The 'ooh' part was her wonderfully unfashionable body, curves that were struggling with the thin style of her modern dress which was baby blue and a size or two too big for her waist, attempting to compensate for her ample chest. He wondered if she even bothered with binding her breasts like so many women were doing these days. Delicate ankles peeked out from the long, slim skirt and her nervous feet shifted in sensible, low-heel, brown shoes.

The 'aww' part came into play with her whimsical glasses that seemed a bit big for her face as she kept adjusting them. Masses of auburn hair were piled funnily onto her head in a style that belonged in 1907 rather than 1927. She swept her hand across the haphazard do as she reached down to retrieve her brown, wool coat.

"Thank you, Mr. Kurosaki. I'm sorry. I'm sometimes clumsy like this."

He blinked rapidly and was surprised to find he had to wipe a small smile off his face. "No, that's all right. Please, sit." She did, and he eyed her cautiously as he rounded his desk and sat in his own chair. "So, you have a case?"

Her head jerked up as her mouth fell open. "Oh! I…I…" He scowled as she bit her lip and looked down to fiddle with the coat that lay in her lap. Ichigo groaned inwardly, _she's a weeper_. But then she suddenly snapped her head back up. "No, I'm sorry. I don't have a case. I'm sorry. I…I'm supposed to tell you that I got a death threat and I need your help and then to observe you as you work to find out how you solve all your cases, but…but…I just can't. I'm sorry."

He gaped at her as the strange woman continued to twist the brown wool in her hands. "What?!" he finally bellowed. "What are you yammering about? Find out how I… Who are you?!"

"I…I'm Orihime Inoue, reporter with the Chicago Tribune."

Ichigo angrily jabbed a finger towards the door. "Out!"

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Yup, Hime's in glasses :DD I LOVE her in glasses!! I've been dying to put her in glasses. You know that one library spread by Kubo? Ugh, TOO adorable!!

And Rukia smokes for a reason. I'll get to it. But smoking is B.A.D. Disgusting. If you've ever had to kiss someone who smoked, it's no walk in the park. More like kissing an ash tray. Plus there's the whole cancer stick thing. So yeah, don't do it XD.

Alrighty, let me know what you honestly think! Thank you for reading!! :D


	2. Tin Roof Blues

Eh heh... Yeah I'm updating this. *watches all the readers running to their windows to check for the Apocalypse* Real funny guys. Bunch o' jokers . Um...to copy and paste what **AngelCat HellFire** said in her AN: _WOW, LOOK AT ALL THE TIME THAT'S GONE BY. I…I got nothing except an "I'm sorry!" and an "I'm through making promises/expectations!"_

Yeah...pretty much that. So sorry guys!! Especially when I got such an unexpectedly amazing response for the last chapter that I deeply, deeply appreciate!! Think of the first chapter as...as a preview! Yeah! And now the movie's come out!! WOOT!! Be excited 8D Okay, well anyway, thank you for your patience and from now on hopefully I'll get the updates out in reasonable times DX I don't have near the free time I did last summer when I was writing LBLB, so that ones rapid updates was a once in a lifetime deal you got from me xD Plus these chapters will most likely be shorter. So don't always expect super long ones... Just kind of the way I'm writing this one. Plus hopefully updates will be faster if I do that!

So that you don't have to go back and re-read the first chapter to remember what the bloody hell is going on, here's the **summary**: Obviously there's a nasty SOB out on the loose killin' chicks in 1927 Chicago. Why? Who knows. Enter, Ichigo as a 27 year old detective and his partner Hisagi who we first see quickly closing up a case of Loli killing her husband Yammi (crack pairing that somehow works ftw) over money or something. How did they wrap it up so fast in the days of primitive police work? Ichigo can see and speak to spirits (which sometimes gives him monstrous headaches afterward, his fiery secretary, Rukia, is no help to alleviate said headache). Tatsuki (a hardnosed reporter determined to get Ichigo's story) and her sidekick photographer Keigo (who might have a slight crush on her?) crash their crime scene and get kicked out. Orihime (a frizzy haired, bespectacled, corn-grown childhood friend of Tatsuki who has been working on the paper for several months since her brother died of a sickness back home) is frustrated with writing frivolous stories and Tatsuki pulls her into a scheme to get a story out of Ichigo, but Orihime blows it by telling Ichigo the truth about who she is and why she's there. So now he's just told her to get the hell out of his office and they've been suspended in animation with her sitting there in nervous shock and him angrily pointing at the door, waiting for her to leave.

Phew. Make any sense? No? Cool beans.

And lastly, but _most _of all, I...I got this betaed!! Yes! And it was amazing! So very helpful! So a million thank yous and ten million glomps to my dear beta** Ritsu-san**!!! *smothers her in glomps* I whined about my fail!writing on my LJ and she was so very kind to volunteer her services3 So thanks to her!

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Orihime looked at his shaking finger pointing towards the office door, and then looked back at him, her expression a bit stunned at his outburst. "Detective Kurosaki." She tucked a loose hair back into the mass atop her head. "There's no need to be so rude," she admonished quietly.

"I _beg_ your pardon."

He watched her with narrowed eyes as she sunk back just slightly, but she stood her ground even as a blush swept over her cheeks. "I said you shouldn't be so rude."

"I shouldn't be so rude?! _I'm_ not the dame who swept in here, wasting my time with some cock n' bull story and then turning out to be just another press cannibal!"

Orihime bit her bottom lip and dropped her eyes to the gun and holster that lay on his desk. "Well, I suppose you do have a point…"

"You bet your sweet ass I have a point!" he bellowed as he rose out of his chair, sticking his finger back at the exit. "Out! _Please_, mi'lady," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm and swirled his arm in a flourishing bow. The bow was added more in an attempt to quiet his mother's voice scolding him for treating a lady in such a way than to add theatrics to his sarcasm. He internally argued with her that this was not anything like a lady. This was press. But then she returned with being unable to recall giving birth to an imbecile who didn't know a lady when he saw one.

Suddenly, he growled painfully and clutched a hand to his head. Orihime shot out of her chair, her face laced with concern. "Detective Kurosaki! What's wrong?!"

"Nothing," he snarled. "I'm fine." His mother's scolding becoming louder wasn't helping things much either.

"I'm sorry, but you are obviously anything but. Is it a headache? I have just the remedy for that."

"Like I'm gonna put myself in a position to owe you."

She put her hands on her hips and frowned. "You won't owe me. I just want to help you."

He glared at her in disbelief. "A compassionate reporter? That's about as likely as a gentle rattlesnake."

"You're being rude again. I happen to know many newspapermen who are wonderful people."

"You've got low standards when it comes to wonderful."

She sighed in exasperation and fixed her glasses. "I'm simply not the type of person to let a person in front of me wallow in pain. Do you want my remedy or not?"

"No!"

"Being stubborn is only going to make it worse." With that she picked up her over-sized carpet bag and plopped it on his desk. Anymore protesting was silenced by scowling curiosity as he watched her forearms disappear to dig around in her monstrosity of a "purse". "Aha!" Suddenly she pulled out a small jar filled with what looked like cinnamon or nutmeg. Then she retrieved an empty jar and finally a tiny spoon. Her eyes lifted to search around and smiled brightly when she spotted his water glass which she grasped and set before her.

He watched in fascination as she dumped a couple of spoonfuls of the spice into the empty jar and mixed in a bit of water. She was humming an old tune softly while she made the paste. Finally she came around the desk, spoon and jar of paste in hand. "Sit down, please."

"What?"

"I can't reach your head."

"Oh," he remarked compliantly and promptly sat down. Almost immediately he half-stood out of his chair. "Wait a minute! What are you doing with that stuff?!"

Her eyelashes fluttered behind her lenses. "Why, I'm going to put this on your forehead. Cinnamon paste. It'll get rid of your headache in no time!"

"But-"

"No more talking," she softly but firmly scolded. "Sit and let me put this on."

Before he knew what he was doing, he was sitting back down in his chair as she leaned towards him, a spoonful of cinnamon paste headed for his forehead and then being lathered on his skin. His eyes watched her face as it frowned in concentration, feeling mesmerized when her pink tongue stuck out a little as she focused. He breathed in, and past the strong cinnamon he could smell the faint scent of fresh soap.

All too soon she stepped back and grinned. "There. You should be feeling better soon."

He scowled at her and reached up to scratch his forehead.

"Oh no! Don't touch it yet!"

"It itches," he remarked grumpily, lowering his hand back to his lap.

"Well, you'll just have to bear it. An itch is better than a headache."

He continued to scowl at the woman as she cheerfully went back to the other side of the desk and put away her supplies. "What else do you have in that thing?"

She lifted her head and beamed at him with a wink. "It's a secret!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. What was her angle? She didn't seem like the typical cutthroat he was used to dealing with. _Were they just trying a new strategy on him? Get him to spill the beans to this seemingly sweet girl? Well, they weren't getting' a thing outta him, that's for certain. _"What are you doing here?"

She stared at him with that little frown again. "What do you mean? I just told you, I-"

"Yes, I know what you told me. But what are _you_ doing here? You're not the usual that I have to deal with. You don't seem like the type to do a story like this. Shouldn't you be writing about fashion? Or what about those new gardens at the church down the street?" His brows rose a little when she flushed and pursed her lips. Hit the nail on the head apparently. "So, you think I'm your big break?"

She leveled her gaze at him, steady but holding an apology in her eyes. "Yes."

Well, she seemed to be honest so far. He'd give her that. Though it might be a trick to reel him in to trust her… He mentally shook his head. She just didn't strike him as the type. "And you think that _you_ can get a story out of me that eight newspapers in the Chicago area alone have been trying to get out of me for years? Don't kid yourself, sweetheart."

Orihime bit down on her lip as she closed her bag shut with a click, and then looked back into his eyes with quiet determination. "You said yourself that I'm not the usual, so I'd say I have a pretty good chance."

He let out a loud sound of derision. "Good luck."

Just then Shuuhei burst in, mouth open, ready to exclaim about something when he saw Ichigo's forehead covered in some kind of brown paste. "Uh…" He glanced between Ichigo and the reporter. "You…uh…you got somethin' on your forehead."

"No shit. What's up?"

"Uh…" Shuuhei shook his head slightly. "Just got a call. Woman was found dead at Chestnut and Wells."

Ichigo stood and stuck his arm through the shoulder holster. "All right, I'll be just a minute."

"Uh…Kurosaki?" Hisagi pointed to his own forehead as Ichigo looked up at him.

The oblivious detective blinked before it clicked in his mind what Shuuhei was referring to. "Shit…" he suddenly muttered upon realization. He riffled around his desk and pockets, trying to find something to wipe the Indian shit off of his face.

"Wait! Let me." Orihime quickly pulled a large handkerchief out of her pocket and trotted over to him, reaching up on her tiptoes to gently wipe her remedy off. Again, Ichigo fell into compliance.

Hisagi's eyes had grown wide at the scene when Ichigo glanced over at him. "Problem?"

"Uh…no. Not at all… I'll just bring the car around."

"You do that." He went back to watching the woman, pissed at his sudden urge to reach up and wrap his finger around the tendril that had fallen out of place again. Quiet seconds passed and then she nearly made him jolt when she placed her slim fingers on his jaw turning his head one way, then the other, examining him for any paste that she missed.

Finally she stepped back. "There you go. All done. How do you feel?"

"I…" He blinked in surprise. "I…feel fine, actually."

She grinned confidently. "Of course you do."

He stared at her for a moment and then gave his head a shake while moving past her to retrieve his coat and hat from the hook in the corner. "Well…thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied cheerfully. She slipped her own coat on and hefted up her bag. Ichigo glanced at her before heading out of his office, grunting at his grinning busybody secretary, and stalking through the desks in the big room, the loud chatter echoing off the cinder block walls.

Finally he turned around when he was standing next to the black Model T that was sputtering and jostling its driver, not completely surprised to see her on his heels.

"Well, thanks again. Good luck with gettin' your break."

"I…" She shifted the bag from one hand to the other. "I was thinking I could go with you…you know, just kind of-"

"No," he replied shortly.

"But-"

"Absolutely not." He dropped his voice to a gentler tone. "Look, it's not going to happen. No interview. And no following me. You're never getting a story out of me so you might as well stop now and not waste your time."

He turned on his heel and quickly climbed up into the car, shutting the door behind him. He looked at her as she stood there with that ridiculous bag's handles clutched in both hands, and became concerned at the determination behind that sweet smile.

"Thank you for your time, Detective Kurosaki."

With that she turned away and walked away. He blinked and twisted his neck out the small window to see where she was going. _Shouldn't she be a bit more…disappointed or something? What is she up to?_

"Hey, Lover-boy! You gonna gawk at her or the dead body we got waitin' for us?"

Ichigo quickly fell back into his seat and glowered at Hisagi. "Shut up and drive."

Hisagi rolled his eyes and put the vehicle into gear, the car creaking and lurching out into the minimal traffic. They rode in silence to the intersection where the body had been reported.

They finally spotted the entrance to an alley where a couple of policemen were standing and talking. Hisagi pulled over and shut her off, Ichigo jumping out before it had come to a complete stop. He nodded at the officers whose faces looked tense and pale and then noticed the smell of vomit in the air. Ichigo sighed. _Must be a bad one. _

As he went further down the narrow alley his skin began to crawl, a million tiny spiders scampering up and down his arms. He moved his shoulders as if to knock off the invisible pests, but he only got a chill riding up his spine. Suddenly the stench of death combined with vomit slammed him in the face. He faltered, but pressed onward since he could see the body and there was no turning back now.

"_Shit_." Blood was everywhere. Dread emptied out the bottom of his stomach and his steps felt heavier as if clinging to his legs, begging him not to go any further. Another curse flew from his lips when he stepped to the edge of the blood pool, getting a full view of the shredded body.

The woman's short blonde hair was dyed red and black with blood, the once sweet curls carefully caressing her cheek were now frayed and plastered against her face with dry blood. Her naked body had been carved into dozens of times. Some cuts jagged and rushed, others carefully sliced.

"Holy fuck." Hisagi had appeared behind him and was covering his mouth and nose with his gloved hand.

"Yeah." Ichigo tore his eyes away from the woman's lifeless dark brown eyes frozen in horror and glanced around for her spirit. It wasn't going to be pretty, but he had to find her killer. He could do that much.

He stepped around the body to go further into the alley as Hisagi bent over her. When he came to a brick wall he turned and frowned, searching the area with his eyes darting about. Where the hell was her spirit? It couldn't have already passed on, could it? _Dammit__, I need_ –

Suddenly he heard a teeth-clenching wail from the dark corner his back was facing. He whirled around and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw her spirit, almost completely translucent, curled into herself, her stringy blonde hair shielding her face. Slowly, he moved towards her, his hand reaching in an attempt to comfort. "Hey, are you-"

Her head snapped up and he flung his arm back, stumbling backwards and feeling the horror grip him that contorted her once beautiful face. Her pale mouth opened and closed in soundless screams, her eyes were sunk deep into her skull – or perhaps there _were_ no eyes in those black holes, he couldn't quite tell. The horror of her death reflected on her spirit's appearance. She scooted further into the corner, away from him. "Wait, I just want to-"

Another scream filled his ears and he winced against the pain in his ears. Before he could do anything else she rose and swept past him, her ghostly clothing brushing against his arm and sending more chills up his spine. A baseless, irrational fear filled him, like the emotions from this woman's last moments were passing from her and into him. He shook it off and started running after her. "Wait!"

Hisagi looked up and frowned. "Wait for what?"

Before Ichigo could think of a bullshit answer that would let him go after the spirit, the chilling fear left him abruptly. "Shit!" She was gone. He had no idea where she fled to, but he wouldn't be able to find her now. Sometimes it was too much pain to bear and the spirits would leave. Usually they came back, but on occasion they never returned. He wasn't some voodoo priest or after life theologian, he was a detective, damn it. He didn't know what kind of shit happened on the 'other side' or whatever the hell it was; he just knew she'd unwittingly made it that much harder to catch her killer.

"Kurosaki?"

Ichigo shook his head. "Nothing. Find anything?"

Hisagi started to shake his head when Ichigo's eyes suddenly widened and then narrowed, scowling at what was coming towards them down the alley. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?!" he bellowed.

Orihime didn't even flinch at his voice as she stared with big eyes at the body the men stood next to. Her feet kept moving until she came to the edge of the blood pool.

"Hey! I asked you a question. What-"

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she stepped towards where the woman's head lay, crouching down and reaching out her hand, hesitating, and then lowering the lids of the frightened eyes.

Ichigo scowled at the lady reporter, wondering why she wasn't fainting at the desecrated body but instead tenderly touching the cold, bloody cheek. His jaw clenched and his arm snapped out and grabbed her arm, pulling her up, although gentler than he'd intended.

"All right, that's enough," he barked – or tried to, but again, his voice was gentler than intended. She wiped at her eyes behind her glasses with her free hand.

"I'm sorry…I…I'm sorry…"

"Kurosaki! Hisagi! We've got another body over here!"

All heads snapped to the officer that stood at the open end of the alley. Ichigo put his hand over hers and gently loosened her grip. He studied her for a moment. "Don't follow me. Get back into your cab and get out of here." He nodded to Hisagi and they both headed off to follow the officer into another alley a block away.

It was the same thing. A brunette this time. Shredded. But somehow more blood this time. Again he discovered a spirit, barely existing, barely comprehending anything around her, lost in her own horrible nightmare. And again it disappeared into God-knows-what-or-where.

They finished their investigation; which equaled to nothing. Nothing but bringing in bodies and cleaning up blood.

He stopped before he climbed back into the car.

"You comin' or goin'?" Shuuhei asked after a moment.

Ichigo turned back towards the first alley. "Goin'. I wanna take another look around. Go on ahead. I'll see you there later."

As the car sputtered away, Ichigo's eyes scaled up the buildings, searching, hoping for either of them to show up again. Those faces…he couldn't get their horror stricken faces out of his head, as if those women were facing hell itself. He braced his hand up against the brick building. _That bastard. What the hell had he done to those women? And why?_

Not to mention he didn't know where to begin. He beat his other fist against the building. God, he was such a fraud. A famous, adored, and complete fraud. Sure, he could solve cases once he had the end answer and then work his way backwards through the maze back to the beginning, but if all he had to work with was what every other detective had to work with, he was fucked.

He was a joke.

"Mr. Kurosaki?"

He spun around at the soft voice. The reporter. "What the hell are you still doing here?! I told you to go!"

"I-I know…but I…I just couldn't…I-"

"Looking for clues for your story?" he growled angrily, turning his frustration with himself onto her and not giving a damn. "Two women have been brutally murdered almost beyond recognition and you're clamoring for a few steps up the career ladder? Don't any of you people have a heart?!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and nearly dragged her up against him. "Don't-"

Up close he could see her soft grey eyes through the glasses, sadly looking up at him, and he remembered her tears for the death of a stranger. _Dammit, maybe she really is of a different breed. And I'm an idiot. As usual._

His grip loosened a little on her shoulders and his eyes softened. "No…I'm sorry…I… Look, you shouldn't be here. This isn't your type of story. You shouldn't be around all this ugliness. Write about fashion and school events. Not this. A woman like you doesn't belong here."

Her brow crinkled into a frown and she shook her head. "No. I…have to do this."

"Why?! You-"

She looked away and he felt her stiffen under his hands. "I just do."

Ichigo glared at her for a few seconds, but finally sighed and dropped his hands. She was drenched in none-of-your-biz. "Fine, but you've got to get out of here. Come on, I'll get you a cab."

"No. I'll wait until you're finished." He scowled and opened his mouth to protest, but she interrupted him. "My apartment is on the way to the station, it'll save money."

He couldn't argue with that. So he sighed again and told her to stay put, but of course she didn't. As they walked quietly through the alley, he could still feel the remnants of the horror that had happened as he mulled over the possibilities. What could have been the guy's motive? Jealous husband? A message from the mob? But why two women? Maybe the first one had been the wrong woman…

:

Grimmjow Jeagerjaques absently took another sip of his rum, his eyes on her sultry body moving to the music as her low, smooth voice floated throughout the dim speakeasy. Her short black dress shimmered and swayed over her generous curves. As she sang she flipped her long, thick hair over her shoulder. He was glad she didn't cut it short in one of those fucking mannish bobs.

He downed his drink and motioned to the waitress for another. She sashayed over to him, smiling invitingly as she bent over to serve him his rum on a small, black platter. His blue eyes roamed over her small body slowly, took his drink, and disinterestedly flung a green bill at her as his eyes went back to the singer, ignoring her as she huffed and stomped away.

Finally the singer glanced at him, and he grinned as her eyelashes fluttered and her voice stumbled over the lyrics.

"Hey, Boss, we-"

Grimmjow turned his head and gave Di Roy Linker a look that could kill, and promised sudden death if he didn't choose his next words carefully.

"S-Sorry, Boss. Didn't mean to interrupt."

Grimmjow snarled at him and turned back to the singer, but she was singing out the last notes. His anger neared boiling point as she bowed to the applause and quickly walked off stage to the band starting up a new song. He reached out to the side as he watched her leave, grabbed his minion's collar, and pulled it down hard onto the table, the glass and the little candle holder clinking with the vibrations the blonde's head gave off. "This better be fucking important."

"Uh…well, Boss," he mumbled into the table. "We got ourselves a bit of trouble. Our guy in the police department say they're gonna start sniffin' around us 'cause of those dead girls."

Grimmjow blinked at him. And then a slow smile spread over his face that caused Di Roy's tiny heart to shake a little. "Oh really? That's a useful piece of information, Di Roy."

Di Roy grinned, showing his widely spaced teeth, and nodded eagerly. "Yup, sure is."

The mob boss leaned down close to Di Roy's face as the grip on his shirt tightened. "Are they sniffing around us this very second?"

"Uh…n-no…"

The grin twisted into a deep scowl and he slammed the guy's face into the table again. "Then why the _fuck_ are you interrupting me?"

"S-Sorry, Boss!" Di Roy cried, holding up his hands in defense, his body nearly shaking.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes and released him onto the floor, emptying his drink and standing up to walk away. "Just get outta here, you little shit."

"O-Okay, Boss!"

He growled as he stalked off towards the backstage area. Why did he have to get stuck with these fucking pansies? Idiotic pansies to boot. Grimmjow took in a deep breath as he stepped through the doorway for the first time, grinning at the lack of bodyguards. _Little bastards had been too goody-goody to take money. Guess they'll think twice before refusing money again while they nurse their broken bones._

He'd finally make this woman his.

:

"Oh, Nellll!"

Neliel Tu Oderschvank cringed at the sickening sing-song voice calling out to her and kept her back turned. Maybe it would just go away.

"Neliel!"

No such luck. She turned and managed a stiff smile at the girl who was still carrying the black platter she'd served the guy his drink on.

"Your boyfriend's here again," she sang out. Neliel really wished she'd stop singing.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Menoli."

"Then what do you call that man who's been comin' here every night for the past week listenin' to you sing?"

"A pest," she responded shortly, turning back to riffle through the inventory sheets. _Damn it_, she was going to need to get in another shipment of booze and fast. _People are really tossin' them back these days_.

Menoli pouted. "Well, if you don't want him, let someone else have him."

"He's all yours, Menoli. Wait," she spun around on her heel and frowned at the girl. "Menoli, do you realize who that man is?"

She shrugged. "Some kind of big shot."

"Some kind of big shot," Neliel echoed in shock. "He's a tyrannical, evil, good-for-nothing, mob boss, Menoli! You need to stay away from scum like that! What about that nice kid that keeps comin' around here. What's his name…Hanatarou?"

Menoli snorted and turned up her little nose. "He's not a _real man_ like this guy though."

Neliel stared at her incredulously. "Grimmjow Jeagerjaques is nothing but a slimy bastard that feeds on the souls of the innocent!"

"Well, at least you know my full name. That's a start."

She whirled around in shock at the deep voice that seemed to fill the small hallway. There was the very same scum leaning against _her_ wall with his arms crossed like he owned the place. _Tch, he probably _wanted_ to own her place, the motherfu-_

"We'll work on the slimy bastard part later."

How _dare_ he look at her body like he knew what she looked like naked! Not that her dress left much to the imagination…but still… "How the hell did you get past my guards?" Her heart stopped when she glanced down the hallway only to see them missing. "Where are they?"

"Home in bed. Don't worry. I've got replacements coming in."

She narrowed her eyes at him and clenched her fists. "They better still be alive you son of a-"

"Hey now, you got some mouth there."

Said mouth twitched as his eyes lingered on her lips, making his double meaning more than clear.

"And yeah, they're alive." Grimmjow suddenly noticed Menoli grinning at him, and he growled at her. "Scram, bitch."

Menoli stared at him aghast and then turned to her employer for help, but Neliel was too busy keeping herself from tearing into his throat right then and there for even touching Pesche and Dondochakka. In fact, Neliel thought, in case the urge became impossible to resist she had better send Menoli off so she wouldn't be witness to it. "Go Menoli. I can handle this creep."

Grimmjow arrogantly held Neliel's glare as Menoli loudly exited.

"So, I'm interested in seeing how you _handle_ me, Neliel."

Her eyes narrowed even further at the use of her name. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to meet you."

Neliel blinked. "Meet…me?"

"And then fuck your brains out."

She gasped. And then, damn it, she couldn't help it, but she was slammed with hot images of him doing that very thing. Thank God she was wearing her black dress with the tiered fringe to hide her body's reaction or he'd probably take it as permission no matter what she said and nail her against the wall right there! Which is _not_ something she wanted to happen, no matter what her body thought about it.

"Hey, Boss! Right here?"

The muscle in Grimmjow's jaw ticked as his grin fell away. With a growl he turned around to nod and bark at the two guards that had stationed themselves in front of the doorway.

"You sure you can spare your men like this?" she managed through clenched teeth.

He turned back to her, his wide, easy grin back in place. "Anything for you, babycakes."

"You're too kind," she seethed.

"Not particularly. I got dozens of people workin' for me."

Her eyebrow rose as his chest puffed out in obvious pride in himself. "Why exactly do you have such a massive collection of minions, Mr. Jeagerjaques?"

His broad shoulders shrugged. "People fear me. And what people fear, they kill. But if they can't kill it, they follow it." A slow grin stretched over his face. "Nobody can kill me, so the second choice is their only option."

"Well, you have a pretty limited view of things, don't you?"

He ignored that and suddenly took a step towards her. "What about you, Neliel? Are you my killer or my follower?"

Her chin jutted up and somehow she looked up at him while managing to look down on him at the same time. "I don't fear you."

He took another step and to her horror she somehow found her back flat against the wall behind her, but she kept her face defiant. His voice got deeper and quieter as he leaned in closer. "That's not too smart, Neliel."

She wished he would stop saying her name like that. "You are merely another annoying patron, and with those, I simply ignore them as I will now ignore you. Good evening, Mr. Jeagerjaques."

She turned to go, but then suddenly with slams on either side of her, she was imprisoned between his arms, his big hands glued to the wall beside her. "No one ignores me," he growled menacingly.

"You do make it kind of difficult," she remarked, deliberately maintaining her calm even as he leaned in closer. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but then his lips moved past hers, his breath brushing her cheeks as his mouth continued to hover over her face…down her neck…over her shoulder…. "Let me go, please."

He answered her request by dropping his hand and gripping her waist with it, making her gasp at the sudden feel of his strong, warm hand, his breath hot on her shoulder. Finally she felt him pull back and he held his face close to hers. His startling blue eyes stared into her golden ones for an eternity before he stepped back and suddenly walked away, waving his hand and calling her over his shoulder. "Good-bye, Neliel. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Neliel sagged against the wall. What's his _deal_? More to the point, what was _her_ deal? She'd dealt with this kind of scum before and yet here she was getting all hot and bothered. _For…for this riff raff!_ She didn't really expect to find a nice guy while running a place like this, but at least one that wasn't the head of a mob would be closer to ideal. She shook herself and squared her shoulders, marching down the hallway after him.

At the sound of heels clicking on the hard wood floor Grimmjow turned with raised eyebrows. "Can't wait until tomorrow night?"

She ignored his remark and brushed past him towards his guards. They stared at her with wide eyes as she stopped before them. "What are your names?"

"Uh…" The first big and tall one spoke. "Nakeem Greendina."

The tall, bulky redhead pointed at himself in case there was any doubt about whose name he was stating. "Edrad Liones."

She nodded and smiled with threatening but mellow sweetness. "Mr. Greendina. Mr. Liones. If you so much as breathe the wrong way I'll use your heads as sandbags for rigging. Understood?"

The thugs blinked at her and then nodded simultaneously. "Y-Yes ma'am"

Neliel's smile turned brighter, and then she walked back down the hallway with her head high, ignoring the grinning mob boss.

Grimmjow's face contorted back into a nasty scowl at the sight of the guards gaping after his woman. He stalked up to him and grabbed them by the collars, pulling each of them up till their feet dangled. "You heard the lady. And if even one hair on her head is out of place when I come back tomorrow night, you're gonna end up in pieces in the trunk of my car. Got it?"

"G-Got it boss!" they both cried.

He grunted and dropped them, turning around to glance back at her, surprised to see her staring at him with wide eyes. He winked at her and her chin jutted back out as she whirled around. "Good night, babe," he called out, and walked out without a second look.

:

Orihime glanced at the detective sitting next to her in the cab for the umpteenth time and wrung her hands in worry. For the past ten minutes he'd done nothing but scowl at the back of the front seat with his arms crossed. His legs were spread in a casual position, but his whole body was stiff. The stories had always made it seem like he solved the crimes as easily as he brushed his teeth or shaved his face. But she could tell he was already agonizing over the case, even though it had barely begun!

She wished she could say something to put him at ease. But what on earth could she say? She barely knew him!

The cab rolled to a stop in front of her apartment building. The detective blinked out of his concentration and quickly hopped out of the cab to open her door for her.

"Thank you," she said as she slid out, his face still distant as he held the door.

He grunted as he finally looked at her. "No offense, but I hope this is the last time I'll see you."

A grin spread across her face. "I'm afraid not." She looked a bit sheepish at his horrified expression. "Sorry, but I really can't give up. Good night, Detective Kurosaki!"

He dodged her swinging carpet bag as she spun around and scowled after her retreating figure. "Damn female," he muttered as he turned to step in.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," the cabbie spoke up, startling Ichigo. "She might be a funny little thing what with her way of dressin' and actin', but I'd sure wanna see her around again if I were you."

Ichigo glanced up at the building just as the glass and wood door closed behind her, and then turned back to the cab driver who was grinning at him with that knowing grin between men. "I pay you for your _excellent_ driving skills, not your opinions." With that he fell into the seat and slammed the door shut as the driver put the car in gear, muttering to himself.

Immediately, Ichigo's thoughts returned to the case. To those women. He couldn't fail them. He _wouldn't_.

He'd catch this bastard even if it killed him.

:

:

:

* * *

Finally! The GrimmNel I promised you ages ago Eloni (and probably code too)!! DX I fail. So hard.

The cinnamon mixture actually IS an old-fashioned remedy for headaches, although I highly doubt it works that fast. Please excuse me for taking creative liberties...

And those of you who didn't anon review probably already noticed I'm doing the review replies differently with this one. Instead of putting them at the end, I'll just reply as I get them because since I was getting so many, as much as I adored all of them and loved communicating with all of you, it was a little exhausting. Plus when as much time passes as has this time, it's rather embarrassing and I feel silly when you probably don't even remember what you said xD As for the anons, I'll try to reply at the end of chapters, but I may forget or too much time has passed that I might not bother...

Anyhow, thank you so much for reading and sticking with this story!! I hope you continue to enjoy it!! :D


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